


Legend

by MinervaNorth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A prequel to season 3, Character Death, Nightmares, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21579334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaNorth/pseuds/MinervaNorth
Summary: Stiles Stilinski knew he shouldn’t have let Scott go back into the Preserve, because finding that 2,000 year old sorceress brought more harm than good. Seeing her in his dreams didn’t help his case, either.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Why does anyone go into the Beacon Hills Preserve?

_ **Tuesday, September 18, 2011 ** _

I swear to God, if we regret this again, I’m going to kill him myself. 

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like a good jaunt in the woods, looking for dead bodies, getting bit by werewolves, finding a crazed darach who wants to sacrifice you so she can have power to do whatever she wants with— 

Okay, maybe I am starting to regret this. We’ve already opened the door to darkness inside, right? That’s what Deaton said. But it’s so dark out here, I can’t see a thing anyways. 

I just follow Scott and his sense of smell. About an hour ago, he said he smelled something weird and decided it was a great idea to follow it all the way into the Preserve, which we all know is a horrible idea. 

“Stiles, you’re too quiet. Are you monologuing inside your head again about how this is a stupid idea?” 

“It’s a stupid idea.” 

“I’m an alpha now. I know what I’m doing, and something’s wrong.” 

I roll my eyes. How many times am I going to get this ‘I’m an alpha now’ crap? 

“You realize this is what got us in trouble in the first place?” I switch the flashlight from my right to my left. Not like it helps much—I can only see a few feet in front of me. 

“I’m telling you. Someone’s out here. And it’s supernatural.” 

“How do you know? Do you have like, a Tony Stark mainframe in your head? ‘JARVIS, what is our direction?’ ‘You must go six degrees due east, sir!’—” 

“Can you just shut up for a second, please?” 

He stops mid-step and I scramble to stop. I make a bit more noise than I think he was expecting but it’s his fault for stopping so quick. 

Damn. I hear something behind us. I don’t like this at all, but Scott still seems to think this is a good idea. I mean, a heart of darkness. What if that thing was coming for us? What if we didn’t like what we found? 

“Stiles! Stiles, I need your help—” 

Jesus, what happened? Did I just fall asleep for a hot second? What the hell? 

I follow Scott’s voice. He found something. I know it. And I don’t like the sound of what he’s found. Oh, that rhymed— 

I slide down the hill. Oh, shit. Don’t fall, don’t fall— 

“Stiles!” 

He doesn’t sound like he’s dying. That’s good. That’s something important. Not dying. Right— 

But she may be dying. Everything about her is dark, but that might be the blood. 

“That’s a lot of blood. That’s a whole lot of blood. Jesus. Scott—Scott, what can we do? We need to get her to the hospital—” 

She moved. She freaking moved, and white sparks came out of her fingertips. 

“Oh my God. Oh my God—” 

Scott pushes me away, pushes me until I step back and he—of course—stays close. What the hell is wrong with him? You’d think he was invincible or something. 

No, he’s just a dumbass. 

He reaches down to the girl, or whatever she is, and goes to move her hair away from her face. 

Her eyes blink open. They’re an electric blue. They look like Derek’s. They shouldn’t. She can’t be a werewolf. She’d be healing, right? What is she? 

Her eyes don’t change. They’re normally that color. Nothing is normally that color. And they’re not glowing. They’re just… like that. 

“I can’t go… not to the hospital,” she rasps. I cringe. Not attractive. Hopefully that doesn’t linger. 

Scott picks her up and gently hoists her over his shoulder. 

“We need to get her help.” 

He tosses me his phone and I’m already dialing Deaton. He starts running— 

“Oh, don’t worry! I’ll catch up! You know, skinny kid in the dark!” 

_“Stiles.” _

“Deaton, we’ve got a problem.” 

_“And that’s different from when?”_

“We found a girl in the preserve. We need you to help her, okay?” 

I really need to start running. This is getting old, and I’m out of shape. I probably could get eaten this way. I need a trainer. Maybe when Derek comes back from his zen vacation he can be my trainer. Would he go for that? Probably not. Sour wolf. 

_“Stiles, are you listening to me? Why can’t you take her to the hospital?” _

“Um, she said she couldn’t. She can’t. She’s—”

_“A werewolf?”_

I slide to a stop at the edge of the preserve, and Scott’s not there. He’s still running. He’s got to be. I jump behind the wheel of Roscoe. “Lord knows we need another teenage werewolf around here. Look, I don’t know. We’ll meet you at the office. Scott’s probably already—” 

_“He’s here.” _

The line clicks off, and I look at the phone. Jesus. No one says goodbye anymore, huh? Well, not when there’s a person’s life at stake. But that seems like it’s every other day at this point. I toss Scott’s phone on my passenger seat and head towards the vet. By the time I get there, the closed sign is still swinging slightly at the door. 

When I bust in, I see the girl in better light. Her light blue dress hangs in tatters off the metal table. Oh, Lord. Wonderful. Her blood’s just a better shade of red in here. 

“Hand me the needle—” 

I drop to the seat in the waiting room. Nope. Not dealing with the needles. I refuse to pass out this time. 

Who is she? Who is this girl? What happened to her? What attacked her? Oh, God. I immediately go to ‘what’ instead of ‘who’. That’s the life I lead now. What’s next? Vampires? Yeah, that’s really funny. That makes Scott the one head werewolf, then. Ew. Jacob. Why did I know that? Ugh. Who would be the dumb girl to fall in love with him, though? Ain’t Allison. She’s too smart to deal with any of that crap. Wouldn’t be— 

The door opens so fast it slams against the wall. 

“Lydia?”

I stand up quickly. My heart jumps but I’ve learned to suppress it. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Her red hair is braided around her head, but little sections are falling out. Like she was asleep or something. Of course, Allison’s close behind. I’m surprised she’s not carrying a crossbow or something. She’s probably got a knife in her boot, though. Makes me sleep a little better at night. 

Lydia’s out of breath. “Why are you out of breath? What happened?” I ask.

“Something was wrong and it’s wrong here,” she says, pointing to the ground. She immediately looks to the operating room and I try to step in front of her. Her eyes widen. 

“Who is that? Where did you find her?” Allison asks, holding Lydia back with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Scott thought he smelled something in the woods, so, uh, we went looking.”

“You know better than that—” Allison starts. “You should have called me!” 

“I didn’t think we’d find a dying girl!” I snap back. “That really wasn’t on my to do list today!”

Lydia just stares at her, her eyes slowly narrowing. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.” 

I turn around, and like clockwork, Deaton speaks. 

“She’s not breathing. Scott?”

He starts to do CPR—I didn’t know he knew CPR. Is that just Werewolf 101?—and goes to press down on her chest. 

Her eyes fly open and she arches, gasping for breath. I nearly fall back into Lydia. What the hell?

The same white sparks I saw before start bouncing out from underneath Scott’s hands. He goes to move, but she reaches up a hand to keep his there. It doesn’t look menacing, but I don’t know if a girl covered in blood and sparking can look anything but menacing. 

Deaton stays in the corner. He looks shocked—haha, shocked—like he hasn’t seen this before. Crap. If he hasn’t seen this before, we’re absolutely fu— 

I see something. I step forward, and I can see the cuts—the gashes across her side, her arms— they’re healing. They’re covering up slowly, but they’re healing. She’s using Scott to heal herself, and she’s going to kill him in the process. 

I pull his hands away from her, and she loosens her grip willingly. 

“Stiles, wait!” 

Scott tries to pull away from me, but there’s not a lot of fight in him. 

“She was going to kill you!”

“No, she wasn’t, Stiles, she was healing herself—” 

“Yeah, and you know what? She was gonna go all Rogue in X-Men and then you’d be dead instead of her!” 

He stops. The girl half falls and half jumps off the metal table, landing weakly on the ground. Scott tries to go to help her but I hold him back again. 

She pulls herself up, grabbing onto the table. There’s a few cuts on her arms and legs left, but nothing she couldn’t survive. 

She healed herself. What is she if she isn’t a werewolf? I glance to Allison, and she looks to me. We’re going through our mental bestiaries. There’s about a dozen things I’ve read about that could do that. At least it’s not a vampire. 

Scott clears his throat and I finally let go of him. The girl—if she was really human—slowly looks up. She glances to Lydia and Allison, and Lydia looks like she’s turned white. 

She looks to me and Scott. I shiver. I’ve been cold before. I’ve been submerged in ice for hours and left for dead before, but I’m cold now. 

It’s her eyes. Those damn blue eyes. She’d be pretty without all the blood. 

“Where am I?” 

“Not in Kansas anymore,” I say. 

She tilts her head to the side and she just looks plain creepy. Oh, God. Like a creepy doll. I step backwards and nearly knock over an instrument cart. 

“Please. Where am I? When… when am I?”

“Beacon Hills, California. It’s September 2011,” Lydia says, her voice shaking. 

“What’s your name?” Scott asks.  
She looks down at the tile floor, flexing her bare toes. Her eyebrows furrow like she’s trying to remember. 

“Ava. I’m called Ava. Ava Malory.”

She’s British. How the hell did she get here? 

“Do you know how you got here?” Allison tries, inching closer to her. Of course she would. She has no fear gene. 

“No,” Ava says simply. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t know… I don’t know why I’m here. Or how I got here. Or where I came from.”

“You realize you healed yourself, right?” I say. I can’t help it. It just slips out. 

“Yes,” she breathes, raising her hand in front of her. Residual sparks come from her fingertips. “I’m… I’m a sorceress.” 

Of course she is. Of course she’s a sorceress. That’s exactly what we need in this town. Isn’t that just a nice name for a witch anyway? 

Scott turns to me and I nearly knock down the cart again. “What are we going to do with her?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one who pulled her from the Preserve!” 

“Do you know what attacked you?” Allison asks, brushing past Lydia. “Can we help you?”

Scott just gives me a smile. Allison and him will always been on the same page. I don’t know why they don’t just get back together. 

“I don’t know what they were, but they were many,” Ava says, her voice wavering. “Too many for me to fight off.” 

She’s distracted. I can see it in her eyes. As Allison asks whether she remembers anything and Ava says no, I watch Ava’s gaze. She goes from Allison to Lydia, then to Scott and me. Deaton rushes over to look over some of her other wounds, starts bandaging what he can, but I stay at the back with Lydia. 

“What’s she doing—” 

“She’s counting,” Lydia says. “She’s counting the number of us.” 

“Why?” 

“She looks confused. Something’s not right. She’s not telling us something. She’s not telling us something very important.” 

“She says she can’t remember anything, though. Think she’s lying?”

“I don’t think she’s lying,” Lydia whispers. “She’d have a tell if she was lying. She looks genuinely confused, like she’s expecting something but can’t quite remember what it is.” 

Scott approaches us and Allison is hot on his heels. 

“What are we going to do with her?” He asks. 

I consider what Lydia said. She may be right. We may want her around, as creepy as she might be. But maybe she’s got some answers that we may need. We just need to get them out of her locked down mind. 

“She needs to stay here,” I say. Allison and Scott look to me like I’m crazy. I should be used to that by now. But Lydia nods. 

“There’s something weirder going on here and we need to figure out what it is,” she says. “We need to keep her around for a while. See what she remembers. She’s a witch. Maybe she can help us.”

“Okay, but where are we going to keep her?” 

I look over Scott’s shoulder as he speaks and look at her and Deaton. She seems nice enough, but I don’t know if I can trust her. I still get a weird feeling about her. 

“Stiles? You okay with that?” 

“Wait, what?” 

“Were you listening?” Scott says. “She’s coming home with me. We have some room and my mom knows about the whole supernatural world. She’ll… she’ll be okay with it.”

“You sure about that?” I say, crossing my arms. “Another supernatural being in the house?”

“I need to make sure she’s okay, Stiles,” he says. “Then we’ll see what she’s here for.” 

I think we’re going to find out what she’s here for and not like the outcome. 

* * *

After telling Allison and Lydia that they could go home and we’d see them tomorrow, I find myself driving this Ava girl and Scott back to his place. He knows I don’t like this choice but what else can we do? 

I think I’m the only one here that doesn’t trust her. 

He helps her towards the front door and I can’t wait to see Melissa’s face. It’s going to be interesting, to say the least. 

“Mom? Mom, are you home? I need to talk to you—” 

She wanders out from the kitchen, her curly hair wild. She looks worried. 

“Where have you—oh. Oh.” 

And here we have Melissa McCall looking over the bloodied, barefooted girl in her entryway, covered over the shoulders by her son’s jacket. 

“Don’t panic.” 

“I’m panicking.” 

“This is Ava. She needs a place to stay.” 

She looks from me back to Scott. “Is she…” 

“Um, well, it’s complicated,” Scott says. 

“Can I talk to you in the kitchen?” Melissa says, inching away. 

“Stay with Stiles,” he says to Ava. 

She finally turns to me. She is pretty. She could be prettier though. Not with all that blood and bramble still in her hair. But her eyes are sad, like something’s missing. 

“Stiles. Is that what you are called?” 

I shrug. “I like it better than the alternative.” 

“What is the alternative?” She asks quietly. 

“It starts with ‘M’ and is way too complicated for you to say,” I respond. She’s making me nervous, and she inches closer. I scoot away. 

“And Scott. He is a werewolf, is he not?”

“You’re sharp,” I chuckle. “It takes most people a bit longer to figure that out. I think it’s the sideburns. Or the epic sense of smell. Or, you know, the superspeed…” 

“And your friends…?” 

She’s prying. I don’t like this at all. More information means she knows more, but I hear myself talking before I can stop myself. 

“Allison, the dark haired one, she’s really good with weapons.”

“Human?”

“Mostly.”

“And the one with red hair? Is she… oh…ays sheeth-uh?”

“Bless you. Wait, what?” 

“Aes sídhe,” she repeats. “A member of the fairy folk.”

I blink. Wow. This girl’s quick. Too quick. Okay, I’ll play your game. The more I answer, the more I get from her. 

“She’s a banshee.” 

Ava lets out a pent up breath. “And you?” 

I shrug. “A lot of sarcasm and a baseball bat is pretty much my superpower.” 

She looks up at me, her breath seemingly catching in her throat. After some scrutiny, she whispers, “There is more to you than meets the eye, Stiles.” 

“Yeah, well they say that about Transformers, too.” 

“What are we going to do, Scott? I’m sorry, but I cannot take in another person! You didn’t even do the dishes… have you even eaten yet? I don’t know how we’re going to keep going like this!” 

Uh oh. Melissa’s nearly yelling. 

“Mom, please, just let me explain—”

“Explain?”

Ava pulls Scott’s jacket further across her shoulders and softly walks towards the door of the kitchen. I can’t stop her, so I follow her instead. 

“Ava, not a good idea—”

“Please. I cannot be a hindrance.” Who talks like that? Gesturing towards the sink, she says, “May I?” 

“Oh, honey, no. You need to…” 

Melissa trails off as little white sparks fly from Ava’s waving fingertips and twirl about the sink. The dishes on the countertop and the ones stacked in the sink clean themselves off and begin to stack. When they’re all finish—which takes about thirty seconds—the cabinet doors creak open and within a minute, the dishes are done. 

“Eh—excuse me?” 

“Mom, she’s a witch.” 

“I prefer sorceress, actually,” Ava says before she starts to drop. She goes backwards so I catch her under the arms. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” I find myself saying to her. 

“Is she going to be okay—” Melissa says. I’m still not sure she knows what’s going on. I don’t think I know what’s going on. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Ava says. “Please.” I start to pull her back to her feet, but she holds tight onto my arm. 

“I can sleep on the couch for now,” Scott says. “Until we figure out what’s going on. Is that okay? Mom?” 

Melissa tries to shake away her disbelief. I’ve seen it before—the days after she found out about Scott being a werewolf. But at least this time it’s not her kid. Just another supernatural teenager her son’s dragged into her house. 

“Yeah. That’s fine. I need to get to the hospital. I’ve—I’ve got a shift. Just—call me if you need me. Nice to see you too, Stiles,” she says, brushing past me and Ava. 

Scott sighs, then seems to regroup. “Would you want to shower? I’ll show you upstairs.” 

Ava just nods and he guides her to the stairs. I watch them go up. She’s shaky, but she’ll live. 

I need to talk to Scott. That’s what needs to happen. We need to figure this out quicker than the last time. Three fold deaths. A freaking darach. This can’t be as complicated, right? 

“Stiles?”

Out of the dark of the stairway I see Isaac creeping. Oh. Yeah. Forgot he was still here, since he’s basically got nowhere else to go. I feel kind of bad for him, actually. Especially since he’s kind of on his own, just hanging out at his alpha’s house. 

“Hey, Isaac.”

“I heard arguing,” he says matter-of-factly. I don’t know if it even scares him anymore, but I know the history. Especially when it gets late, the more he gets worried. I think it’s just residual. 

“You’ve got a new house guest.” 

“Another one?” Isaac says, finally coming down the rest of the stairs. “Werewolf?”

“Better. Witch.” 

“Should have known we’d be getting one in this town. I can’t say I’m surprised.” 

“Surprised about what?” Scott says, jumping down the stairs. I hate when he does that. It just looks so damn cool— 

“Heard we got a witch. What’s next, vampires?” 

“It’s gonna be like _Twilight_ in here before we know it,” I say, falling down onto Scott’s couch. He follows me into the living room and sits down on the armchair. 

“So, where’d you find her? In the preserve?” Isaac asks, standing next to Scott. 

I guess the mini-pack meeting’s begun, so I start. 

“I don’t like this at all.” 

“I know you don’t,” Scott immediately responds. 

“She’s a witch,” I say, ticking off my fingers, “Scott could smell her. Or at least sense her presence, which Lydia could too. Oh, and Ava knew Lydia was a banshee, except she called her a ‘Aes sídhe’. And she’s British.” 

“She wasn’t dressed for the outdoors,” Scott says. “And she doesn’t remember anything from before the attack—not where she was from or why she’s here. Whatever attacked her, she said there were a lot and with that much blood, they wanted to kill her.” 

“So how do we figure out why she’s here?” Isaac asks, sitting down on the floor next to Scott. Like, for real? Does he always need to be so close? It’s like he’s trying to morph into Scott so they can become like the twins and do that really weird giant werewolf thing— 

“Stiles, are you listening?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m listening. Of course I’m listening. You know what was weird?” I say, leaning forward towards Scott. “I think she was counting people at Deaton’s. Lydia thought so too.” 

“Counting people? What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know, but I don’t think she knew why either. She was concerned. She was concerned about the number of people. I don’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t right.”  
“What’s the plan, then?” Isaac says. “Just let her stay here and wait to see if she’s going to kill one of us?”  
“Or all of us,” I say. 

“Can we all give her the benefit of the doubt? Is that even an option?” Scott says. He’s getting annoyed. Naturally, I push it. 

“Why are you so keen on helping this girl?” I say. “What makes her so special?”

“I don’t know!” He finally cracks. “I don’t know why she’s special, but she’s something, and we need to figure it out!”

I lean back into the couch and let the soft cushions bounce me back a little. I hate when I know Scott’s right, but it doesn’t stop the fact that I’m really, really apprehensive about this girl. 

“Scott?” 

Jesus Christ—After I jump out of skin, I look to the stairway. She’s there, drying her hair with a towel. Somehow, the light blue sundress type-thing she had on before is now completely clean and fixed, and so is she. The blood’s gone and her hair is dark— not as dark as Allison’s, but not as gorgeous red as Lydia’s. Without the blood on her face, too, her eyes are even brighter. That’s like, illegal. She’s beautiful in way that’s intriguing. I feel myself attracted to her in a way that’s different than how I feel about Lydia—I know I love Lydia, for sure, but this girl has something about her that makes me want to ask questions and answer questions. 

I look at her face again. I squint, look closer. I know her face. I’ve seen her before. 

I’ve seen this girl before. 

I’ve dreamt about her. 

No, no I haven’t— 

She’s the girl that’s been in my nightmares. 


	2. Our English teacher has a hard-on for Tennyson and now it won’t get out of my head

_ **Wednesday, September 19, 2011 ** _

I don’t know what to do about Ava. I seriously don’t, and it scares me. 

I see that Scott’s come in to school with Ava. She’s wearing something more appropriate—something that’s probably come out of her magic closet. 

I know the plan. She’s Scott’s cousin and she’s going to shadow him for some time. Who knows how long? Well, I’ll take ‘Things I can’t answer straight’ for 1000, Trebek. Oh, great, it’s the daily double. 

She follows him to his locker and stands there awkwardly. 

What the hell is she and why am I seeing her in my nightmares, dammit? 

I sigh. She seems to be fairly straightforward. So let’s be straightforward. 

Scott tells her to stay put and she listens, so I make my move. 

“Hey! I see you’re going to stick around for a while. Do you know how long you’re going to be staying?”  
I put my hand on the locker next to her and she realizes she’s locked in. I’m not sorry. Let her get freaked out. She’s a witch. I’m an angry human. 

“I don’t know. Not yet. I hope to figure out what I’m doing here before whisking off,” she says, slightly trailing off. Yeah, she’s distracted. Why is she so distracted? 

I not-so-subtly whirl to see what she’s focused on. Is she really distracted by a guy? I see who she’s looking at—and it’s our new English teacher, Mr. Moreau. He replaced Miss Blake when she decided to go AWOL and try to kill all of us. I don’t know with by the way Ava’s looking at him if she’s interested or terrified. 

“Mr. Moreau. He got here this week. Junior English.” 

“Where is he from?” She asks, her eyes narrowing. 

“Do you know him?” I ask, turning back to look at him. I don’t even know him. He’s not from around here, I don’t think. He didn’t seem suspicious, but now he does with Ava looking at him like she’s trying to remember where she knows him from. 

“No. No, I don’t think so,” she whispers, looking down at her hands. She flexes her fingers. 

“Everything okay?” I know it’s not. I know it can’t be, and she freaks me out. It’s like a giant chess game, and I feel like the pawn who doesn’t know a single move. 

“I feel so young,” she whispers. “I don’t remember feeling this young before.” 

Um… alright. Okay. That’s something new and exciting and disgusting all in one hit. “Well, do you remember how old you are?”

“What year is this?” She asks. Seriously? Seriously. She seriously just asked what year it was. 

“2011.” I know she’s a sorceress, but how old can she— 

“Two millennia, give or take.”

I start laughing out loud and she just stares at me.

“There’s no way. Are you… are you for real?” I can’t even think. Two millennia—two thousand years. Two thousand years? That would put her near the birth of Christ. Jesus. Well, yes. Jesus Christ the man, not using his name in vain. How—what— 

“You asked, Stiles. I merely answered.”

“Two—two thousand?”

“I said give or take.” 

I have to get this information to Lydia. Scott strides out of the office, and I pat him on the arm.

Gotta go. Gotta talk to Lydia.”

“I’ll see you in English?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” I say distractedly. I head down the hallway and towards Lydia’s locker. When I get there, she shuts her locker and doesn’t even greet me. 

“There is something not right with her—”

“Don’t you think I understand that?” I say.

“I think she knows what I am.”

“I know she knows who you are. She asked me if you were a shee or something."

Her eyes grow wide. “You mean a sídhe?” 

“Isn’t that what I said?” 

“No! A fairy woman. Bean sídhe. A banshee. She knew just by looking at me that I was a banshee. How? How did she know?” 

“I don’t know, but she told me how old she was.”

“And?” She says, clutching her books to her chest. 

“She said she was ‘two millennia, give or take’,” I say, displaying air quotes in front of my face. 

“Are you serious? Two thousand years? She could be anything! God, who is she?” 

She’s frustrated, but I don’t know what else to do besides try to calm her down. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Lydia. I’m having—” I stop. I don’t know if I’m willing to tell her yet. 

“Are you having dreams too?”

Well, that’s shot in the ass. 

“More like nightmares, but yeah.”

“What are you seeing?” 

“A battlefield,” I sigh. “A battlefield, with her standing in the middle near a river or something. She’s wearing a long blue dress and crown.” 

“A river signifies the difference between life and death in Irish mythology,” Lydia says. “I’ve been seeing something similar, but she’s in a forest. Stiles, you’re sure it was a crown?” 

“Um, yeah. Big, silver and blue. Couldn’t miss it, even in the middle of a nightmare.”  
“Do you think she’s one of the Mórrígan?” 

That’s what she pulls out of that gorgeous mind of hers? “The Irish triple goddess? Is that why she recognized you?” 

“Maybe. The Mórrígan appears with battle and strife. Deaton did say this town would become a beacon for darkness, didn’t he?”

“Then why is she here? There’s no battle here.” 

“No. There’s not a war here,” Lydia says. “Not yet.” 

The bell rings and I know I can’t stay. Lydia’s never been one to predict the future, but she’s not stupid when it comes to death. I make it to English and Scott and Ava are already there. 

She’s in my seat. Naturally, she’s stolen my seat. I hunker down in the one behind Scott and next to Allison. She just gives me a worried smile. 

Mr. Moreau starts talking about Tennyson. I feel like he’s got a hard-on for this dude. Tennyson this, Tennyson that. Tennyson, Tennyson— 

I look down at the page where the poem is printed, but all I see are streams of water pushing the letters down the paper. 

I close my eyes. Am I really hallucinating right now?! 

He starts to read— 

“Half a league, half a league,  
Half a league onward,  
All in the valley of Death,  
Rode the six hundred. 

Oh, that’s lovely. Real lovely. Just want I want to read right now. All about battle and death. Just great. 

Valley of death. Battlefields. My head hurts. For real, though—why is this happening now? We barely had three days to recover from, well, dying, and now we’re right back at it. Possible goddess of battle. That’s exactly what we need in Beacon Hills. Maybe Scott should have let her die. 

I cringe again as my head starts to throb. 

When I look up, Ava’s turned towards me. 

She’s standing in a field of bodies, and she’s putting the crown on her head, a smile gracing her pretty face like she hadn’t been the one to cause it. 

She chose who would die? She’s feeding on tragedy, and strife… and chaos. 

“Stiles, are you alright?” She whispers. 

I nod and turn back to the book. 

When can their glory fade?  
O the wild charge they made!  
All the world wonder’d.  
Honour the charge they made!  
Honour the Light Brigade,  
Noble six hundred! 

She has to be a Mórrígan. I think Lydia’s right and the war hasn’t even begun. 

* * *

Scott takes Ava back home with him, and we’re having a pack meeting at 4:30. I need to talk to Lydia. I need to talk to Lydia and Deaton. 

Lydia and Allison leave the school about five minutes after everyone else, and I grab them before they make it to Allison’s car. 

“Hey, I wanna talk to you both.” I could use both, to be honest. And they’re attached at the hip, so whatever. Allison knows about supernatural creatures and knows how to kill them when we need to. 

But I’m never going to tell them what I saw during English. Nope. That’s a bit too personal and a bit too insane. 

Hallucinations? Really? 

“I think we should go talk to Deaton,” I say. Lydia vigorously nods. “He usually knows what to do.”

“And how to kill it,” Allison says, shouldering her back. 

“Hey, hey, calm down, Robin Hood, we’re not killing anyone,” I say. 

“I’m gonna kill her if she’s going to hurt people,” she responds. “And to know if she’s going to hurt someone, we need to find out whether she’s a Mórrígan or not.”

“Meet me at Deaton’s,” I say. I get into Roscoe and start driving. I can feel that pain, dull and throbbing, in my chest. I know what we did was to save our parents, but it’s already starting to hurt. 

It started hurting worse when Ava got here. 

I pull into the vet’s and Allison pulls in behind me. I don’t wait for them, instead, I walk up to the door. It jingles when I open it and Deaton comes out of his little hovel in the back. 

“You’re here about the girl,” he says, crossing his arms. 

I look over my shoulder and Allison turns the sign around to ‘closed’. 

“You saw her. What is she?” I ask. “Is she going to kill us all, or is she harmless?”

He sighs. “Stiles…” 

“You’ve helped us before. You can help us again,” Allison says. “Please.” 

Deaton looks to each of us before he begins. “She said she was a witch—”

“Sorceress,” I correct. I get glares from everyone. “Hey, she’s the one that keeps saying it.” 

“I’ve never seen someone heal themselves before quiet like that,” he continues. “But as a sorceress, I’m sure she has the power to do many things. She doesn’t have her memory, though, meaning something or someone has repressed it. She needs the right thing to trigger it. But you need to know who—or what—she is before you try to trigger it, because it could have a powerful backlash.”

“What do you know of the Mórrígan?” Lydia just jumps right in. She doesn’t even give the poor guy any warning. 

“You think she’s an Irish goddess? What makes you think that?” Deaton asks, leaning down onto the counter top.

“She said she’s 2000 years old, and she kn—she thought I was a banshee,” Lydia says. Good save. 

“I would consider Western European mythology, considering her age and her accent, but that could mean nothing,” Deaton says. “And her being a Mórrígan could be a good guess, but I would think she would have two others with her if that were so. You haven’t heard or found of anyone, I’m assuming?”

“Nope,” I say. “We would have probably ended up back here if we had done that. You know, you’re our supernatural expert around here—”

“Do you know what attacked her from the wounds?” Allison interrupts. 

“Wasn’t werewolf,” he says. “But whatever attacked her, there were many. The girl needs to jog her memory. You need to help her do that. She could be an ally, given what you all have been through. If she remembers, and you’re helping her, she wouldn’t forget that, no matter if she is a Mórrígan or not.” 

At the end of his little speech, he starts ushering us toward the door. “If you need help, you know where to find me. Otherwise, you’ve got your assignment. Oh, Stiles?”

“We’ll meet you at Scott’s house,” Allison says, and they leave me and Deaton alone. 

“Stiles, are you alright? You seem… not quite yourself.” 

“Yeah, yeah, just fine. You know, darkness surrounding my heart. Beacon Hills a literal beacon for evil. My best friend’s a werewolf. We just found a 2000 year old witch—I mean sorceress—in the woods. Just the normal teenage drama.” 

“I’m just looking out for you.” 

“I know,” I say, opening the door. “You always are.”

“Be careful with her.”  
“Aren’t I always?”

* * *

As I park outside Scott’s house, I realize I have the rhythm of that poem stuck in my head. Things don’t usually get stuck in my head. They’re usually there and flit away, so why is this one here? 

Half a league, half a league, half a league— 

“Stiles, what took you so long?” Allison asks as I let myself in and throw myself down on the couch between Allison and Lydia. 

“Me and Deaton were paging through his Grimoire, actually.” 

“You went to see Deaton?” 

I turn to see Scott. He seems surprised. I don’t really know why he’s surprised—Deaton is like our Dumbledore. If Scott is Harry, does that make me Ron or Hermione? I think I want to be Ron. I’m more like Hermione, but she’s too hot and if I’m Ron I get to marry her— 

“Stiles!” 

“Right. Is she…” 

“She’s upstairs,” Scott says, sitting down in the recliner. He falls into it like it’s a throne or something. 

“He thinks the only way we can figure out if she’s good or not or if she brought some sort of darkness with her is to figure out who she is.”

Isaac seems to flit out of the darkness like Batman and sits down on the floor next to Scott. Wow, does he always have to do that? Does he really have to be as close to Scott as he possibly can? Why doesn’t he lay on the top of the recliner like a cat? Jesus. 

“What all can she do, though?” Allison asks. “I know she said sorceress, but what does that entail?”

“I can do nearly anything.”

I flail and Lydia nearly has to grab me to steady me. Well, I can’t say I would mind her grabbing— 

That’s inappropriate. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s see something then,” Scott says, leaning forward in his chair. 

For the first time, Ava looks almost flustered. She wipes her hands on her skirt, looking down at the floor. On her hand, I see a ring. It’s on her pointer finger, her right hand, and it’s a giant silver antique looking thing with silver scrolling and a sapphire in the middle. She spins it nervously and then raises her hands. 

White sparks start coming from her fingertips, and she seemingly builds something out of thin air. Whatever it is starts to form: it looks like a silver hand mirror, inlaid with green stones. When the sparks dissipate, she hands the object to Lydia. 

“Impressive,” she whispers, and I know she’s not just talking about her reflection. Although it is pretty impressive. 

“Pull on the handle to dislodge it from the mirror,” Ava says. 

She does, and Lydia pulls a dagger out from a hidden compartment. The hilt was hidden as the handle and part of the mirror border. 

Allison looks closer with a smile on her face. 

“When you use it, you’ll never miss,” Ava says with a grin. That’s how she does it— win everyone over. That’s her take. 

With a twist of her hands, she’s building something else, and a dark, plain silver cuff appears within her fingertips. As she keeps twisting, she speaks. “I’ve felt your nervous energy since I arrived,” she says quietly. “This should help calm you.” Kneeling down to Isaac, she offers to place it on his wrist. At first, he’s hesitant, and eventually offers her his wrist. 

She gently clasps it on and I literally see his shoulders lose tension. 

“There. Is that enough?”

Hrmph. I wanted a present, too. 

“I think we believe you,” Scott says. “Now. How can we help you?” 

“I need to try to remember,” she says. “And I think I know how to do it.” She kneels in front of the coffee table, and with a wave of her hand, a plain silver basin appears, full of water. 

“Now that was cool.” 

Oh shit, I said that out loud— 

“Thank you, Stiles,” she says with a smile. 

I can’t help but grin. Dammit, she’s pulling me in. 

“What are you gonna do?” Isaac says, leaning towards the bowl of water. 

“You’re going to scry the past,” Lydia says. “You believe you can see what happened to you.”  
She waves a hand over her arm, and a cut appears. Okay, that was weird. She lets a few drops fall into the water. It dissipates in little rings. It moves outward, and it’s strangely beautiful. 

She speaks, and whatever language it is, it's not English. Or, if it was English, it wasn't even close to ours.

Maybe two thousand year old English. 

By the end of the spell— because of course, that was what it was—we had all gathered around the bowl. 

“Nothing’s happening,” I say, looking down at the water. “Isn’t something supposed to be happening?”  
She sinks down to her knees, staring at the still surface. “It’s supposed to work. It should work. I don’t understand why it wouldn’t—” 

“Shh,” Lydia says, looking straight forward. She’s got that look in her eyes when she’s about to freak. “Can’t you hear it?” 

“Hear what—” 

Lydia immediately puts her finger to my lips. That’ll shut a guy up. 

“I hear her screams—”

We all look down to the water. It looks like ice has formed around the edges— and something else is forming inside, just under the reflection. It’s upside down to me, since I’m across from Ava, but her knuckles are turning white as she grasps the coffee table. 

The image is following Ava, and she’s running. Behind her, dark shadows are gaining and I know they’re not human. They don’t even have a corporeal form. 

“They look like the demons from _Ghost_,” I say, and immediately get punched in the arm by Allison. 

Ava brushes her fingertips against the water, and the image changes: she’s on the ground, bloody and barely breathing. A pair of feet appear next to her, and a foot turns her over, resting on her chest. The point of a sword drags on the ground near her. 

And it’s clear. 

Like she was holding her breath, Ava lets out a loud sigh. 

“That’s all we can see. I am sorry it cannot be more.” 

Allison runs her hands over her face. “We can work with this, right? We’ve worked with less. Dark spirits. Demons, maybe?” 

“It’s a possibility,” Ava says. “The more information I can discover from my past, the more I believe we can find out about why I’m here. But how do we find out more, if that’s all I can see?” 

“Other forms of extracting knowledge willingly include hypnotism,” Lydia intones. “Would you want to try that?”

“That sounds painful,” Ava says, glancing from Scott to Isaac then back to me. 

“Why do we go back to where it happened?” Isaac finally says. 

We all look to him. He leans his face on his hand and his elbow on the table, muffling his voice.

Sometimes returning to a place of trauma can cause flashbacks,” he says. “Not the best thing to do, but if you can trigger something, we can make sure you’re okay.” 

Seemed legitimate enough. Lydia isn’t commenting on it, and Allison just looks like she’s building an arsenal in her brain. We all turn to Scott and wait for what he has to say. We may be sitting in a circle, but for some reason, Scott’s still the head. 

“If we’re going back to the Preserve, we’re going prepared. Allison, do you think you’ve got enough with you right now to feel safe?”

She gives him a smirk. They almost look like they’re dating again, until her eyes shift to Isaac. 

“Let’s go.” 

* * *

“Do you remember where you’re going, Scott?”

“The trail’s still here—” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I didn’t wear the right shoes for this.”

Isaac, Scott, Allison, and Lydia’s voices echo through the woods. I’m stuck handling Ava. Don’t know why I was elected to be the handler. Lydia’s just as qualified. 

Okay, but I have a baseball bat. 

At least it’s not dark yet. That sheds more light on the subject. 

God, I crack myself up. 

“The five of you. Has it always been that way?” Ava asks conversationally. 

I scoff. “This little five-some should have never happened. Lydia ignored me until about six months ago, Allison was new at the start of spring semester, and Isaac… well, we just don’t really know how that happened. When Scott got bitten, things changed around here.”

“How so?”

I shoulder my baseball bat. My metal one’s lighter than the one I shattered a while ago. Still got a good swing, though. 

“You’ve got Derek, oh, and his sister Cora— they’ve gone off to do God knows what—the twins, who may still be evil, Jackson moved after the Kanima incident. The Alpha Pack, the darach… we kind of all ended up together in an attempt to survive.”

“Darach?” She whispers. “What happened?”

“She was taking up sacrifices to get power from the Nemeton—”

She stops. 

“We need to go there.” 

“Wait, what? Um, no. We cannot go back there.” 

She whirls in front of me, grasping my arms tight. “Stiles, you don’t understand. Nemeta are sacred spaces. They—” 

“They’re ancient Celtic,” Lydia says. Everyone stops and listens to Ava. 

Celtic, Lydia says. Ava continues to speak, but I just watch Lydia. She knows, too. Irish, Celtic. It was all related. And what could happen if a goddess of death found her power and herself in Beacon Hills— 

“I think I can find my memory at the Nemeton.” 

“That’s not the only thing we can find there—” I say, and she finally lets go of me. Stepping backwards, she finds herself surrounded by the five of us. “Those—those creatures, they’ll come again, and the sooner I can find more information, the sooner we can stop them. I do not want to bring harm to you. I never wanted this. You have to understand.” 

The wind picks up. Here we go. This is what I had been afraid of. 

“Listen. Ava. We can do this, but you’re going to have to calm down,” Scott says, approaching her. “Let’s just talk about all of th—”

Thunder crashes in the distance. 

“You do not understand!” And we all take a collective step backward. Out of the corner of my eye I see Allison slowly reaching for an arrow from her quiver. “I appeared here, with no purpose, no information, and no past, and you wish to stop me from finding that information out? Especially with creatures who have attempted taking away my life! Now please. Show me the way.” 

“Okay. Okay—we’ll go there. Just stay calm, alright?” 

Of course, Scott’s going to placate her. We don’t know what she can do and I think that’s the best decision at the time— 

God, she talks so weird. I know she’s 2000 years old, but it’s almost like she’s been stuck in the speech patterns of another time. If she was really 2000 years old, shouldn’t she be speaking in Latin or something?

“Why is she all of a sudden so interested in the Nemeton?” Lydia whispers. I’ve fallen back and didn’t realize it. 

“Ancient Celtic sacred space?” I offer. 

“It’s all piecing together,” she says. “I don’t know what else she could be.” 

“It’s never that easy and you know it,” I say. “We always think it’s one thing, then it ends up being another. Oh, like Peter—it ended up being you!”

She snaps her mouth shut. I flinch— 

“Sorry. That was uncalled for. But you know what I mean.”

“Are you comparing me to Peter Hale?”  
“No, Lydia—”

“There’s a big difference between this and that. Do you think she’s being controlled by something far worse?”

I got out of that too quickly, so I just ride it out. “I don’t know. I can’t tell. The one thing I’m worried about is if she’s the good person, and whatever is locked away in her memory is the bad.” 

“I would speculate as to the worst outcome, but I don’t know if I can.”

“What, if she’s a Mórrígan?” I say. “You think she’ll rain death down on us.”

“You saw how she just reacted. What if it gets worse?”

The tree’s still there, and I get a sick feeling in my stomach. 

Ava runs her fingertips across the cut trunk, and I see sparks. 

The sick feeling comes back. I don’t like the idea of sparks right now— 

She lets out a loud cry and falls to her knees, still holding her hand to the trunk. Scott and Isaac rush towards her, but she extends her other hand and it stops them dead in their tracks. 

Allison draws her bow. 

We shouldn’t have come here. This is only going to end in death. 

The wind picks up. She clutches onto the wood tighter, and I push Lydia behind me. I don’t need her hurt, too. 

Ava lets out another scream, louder this time, and I inch Lydia back further. The thunder grows louder and I know it’s because of the witch. 

This time, the scream comes from Lydia. It’s not a banshee scream, but one of fear— a bolt of lightning shoots into the tree next to us— 

I cover her head with my hands and she buries her face into my chest— 

The wind gusts, then stops completely. I feel the heat of the sun on my neck. Gently, I pull my hands away from Lydia. 

Ava isn’t moving. 

She’s not dead, is she?

Scott rushes to her, moves her over, and she’s panting for breath. 

“Gwyllion,” she mutters. “The creatures. They’re gwyllion. An army of dark spirits.” 

A hand clasps into mine—I look down to Lydia, and I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing. 

“That’s a Welsh word,” she mutters. “Gwyllion is Welsh. We’re wrong about the Mórrígan.” 

“How do you know?”

“I just—I feel it,” Lydia says, cowering closer. “We need to look closer, Stiles. We don’t have much time.”

“They’ll come again,” Ava says, clutching Scott as he helps her to stand. “They’ll come at the next half moon.”

Isaac curses. “That’s two days from now.”

“How do we stop them?” Allison asks, lowering her bow. “There’s got to be a way.”

“We have to kill the person controlling them,” Ava says. 

“How do we figure out who’s controlling them?” Scott asks. We all know the answer. 

“I don’t know, but we have 48 hours to find out,” Ava responds. She looks to me. I step back, and it’s almost like someone sucker punched me. 

She knows more than she’s letting on. 


	3. Melodrama is something I’d rather see in a really bad supernatural drama on the CW, not in my high school

_ **Thursday, September 20, 2011 ** _

I cannot stop yawning. I guess it would help if I could sleep at all without seeing the girl who’s been staying at my best friend’s house. 

This Moreau guy is still going on about Tennyson and I figured we’d be done with this poet days ago, but for some reason it’s so incredibly important to him. 

He starts to dramatically read a new poem, and I start sketching circles on my notebook. I catch a line— yet all things must die. 

“The stream will cease to flow;  
The wind will cease to blow;  
The clouds will cease to fleet;  
The heart will cease to beat;  
For all things must die.  
All things must die.” 

Well, that’s just reassuring. 

At least we have a system set up—half the team does research, half protects Ava. 

After school, Lydia and I are on research duty. Which is a good plan, really. If we’re on research duty, I don’t think we’ll have to switch shifts at all. We’ll find what we need to. 

At least, I’m hoping we do. 

Lydia and I have already gone over what we need to know—who is she and who wants to kill her. That seemed pretty easy enough, and linked—Lydia said knowing who she is would help lead us to her enemies. 

It was the only logical thing to do, right?

The bell rings and we move like a herd of zombies towards the door— 

“Ava Malory. That’s your name, correct?” 

Mr. Moreau stops her, and naturally, we all stop with her. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And where are you from?” He asks conversationally. It sounds malicious. 

“The UK.”

“Where in the UK?” He says, crossing his arms. “I spent a lot of time there in college.”

“Oh, uh—Somerset.” Ava saves it with a smirk. 

Somerset? Where the hell did that come from? Have I ever even heard of Somerset? 

“I was just thinking your accent sounded more Welsh,” he continues. How the hell can he hear that in an accent? Scott puts a hand on Ava’s shoulder. He doesn’t like this either. For good reason— “Do you have any family in the Newport area?”

Scott cuts it off, pulling Ava towards the door. “I’m sorry, we’ve got to get to class. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

Moreau just raises his eyebrows and gives us all a smile. “Yes, you will.” 

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Isaac speaks. 

“I don’t like him.” 

“None of us do,” Allison says, “But that was a bit much.”

“Why did he care so much?” Scott says, looking to Ava. 

I just look to Lydia. She’s resting her mouth on her hand, looking down at the tile floor. 

“We need to speed this up,” I say, not looking away from Lydia. She’s got that look in her eyes that says she heard something or thought up something and I don’t want to let that go. “Can you guys take care of Ava today?” 

With a snap of her fingers, a flame appears in her hand. “I can take care—” 

“Of yourself, I know. God, put that away,” I cut her off, shoving her hand down and out of sight. 

“We’ll stay on Moreau and see what he’s up to,” Scott says. “Can you two try to figure out who’s controlling the demons, or whatever they are?”

“We’re on it,” Lydia says definitively. Alright then. We’re on it. 

The bell rings, and we all part ways. Lydia laces her fingers between mine— 

“Lydia, where are we—”

“We’re skipping class. This is too important.”

“Don’t you have your mom in this period?”

She sighs theatrically. “We’ll just tell her I got sick and went home.”

“How many times can you use that excuse before you have to tell your mother you’re kind of a mythological creature?”

“Shut up, Stiles.” 

* * *

“Somerset… Wales… Celtic mythology… I don’t even know where to look anymore.” 

“Everywhere. We look everywhere. And when we’re done looking everywhere we look again, alright?”

Lydia throws a stack of papers behind her and they splay out. You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have Lydia in my room like this, sitting on my floor, looking through sheets and sheets of mythology and trying to save Beacon Hills AGAIN— 

Okay, maybe this wasn’t exactly what I was envisioning. 

“She’s not a Mórrígan.”

“How can we be sure?”

Lydia blows a piece of hair from her face. “She isn’t raining down death. I told you, at the Neme—” 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Okay, Welsh mythology then. What was that Fleetwood Mac song—”

“You mean ‘Rhiannon’?”

“Wasn’t she a witch?”

“That, or possibly a goddess,” Lydia says. “I mean, that would make sense, with the battlefields and reincarnation. But what about the water? She’s always in blue? I just don’t know where it all connects in Western European mythology!” 

“Did we ever think about asking her again?” I say, tossing the highlighter cap from hand to hand. It’s the only thing keeping me calm at this point. I’ve been getting more and more anxiety lately, and I can only attribute it to this crap. 

“She’s not going to say anything. I don’t think she would even if she knew,” Lydia mutters. 

I cap my highlighter and fall back into the piles of papers. I need to repaint my ceiling. I can see weird swirls of color up there. Somerset, Wales. Mythology. 

That Moreau guy was creepy. 

“Did you think Moreau was creepy?”

“I don’t like him,” Lydia says quickly. 

“I don’t think anyone likes him,” I say, sitting back up. “He’s a creep. The way he talked to Ava? I don’t know what he’s up to.” 

Lydia checks her nails, looking at them in the sunlight coming from the window. “I’ve experienced something like it before. It’s not very fun.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry for making that comment earlier. But you knew what I meant.”

“Mmhmm.” She won’t look at me. Dammit, I’ve messed this up again. Great. That’s just great. 

“I said I was sorry, Lydia.” 

“Let’s just figure this out,” she sighs. “Have you seen anything else in your dreams?”

I don’t know how to respond. I mean, how do you say you really haven’t slept more than three hours in the past couple nights? I don’t know what else to do. I keep having the nightmares about doors being opened and Ava standing in a bloody field by a river. 

“Stiles?”

I blink. “What?”

“You zoned out. Again.”

“What do you mean again? I’m not zoning out.”

“You keep doing it,” Lydia says. “Stiles, you’re not sleeping, are you?”

I run a hand over my face. Anymore, she knows where I’m coming from. More than I ever expected. It’s frightening. She never knew I existed, then… 

“Let’s figure this out. If we do, maybe you’ll get some rest, okay?” 

Somerset. She said she was from Somerset, right? What the hell is in Somerset? What the hell is Somerset? What made her pick that out of the air? And did she really sound Welsh? What was that guy playing at? 

I sit up quickly. “Did you catch his first name?” 

“I saw his file in the office. Blake. Attended Bangor University in Wales.” 

“I would take a moment to make a joke about a school being called Bangor but I can’t think of anything right now,” I say, pulling myself into my desk chair and waking up my computer. “Can you Google his name and the university?”

She’s already on her phone. 

I’m pulling at strings here, but I Google ‘sorceresses from Somerset’. 

Hey, I said I was pulling at strings— 

I start reading through the lists. U.K. climbing, something about t-shirts. I think that’s a fanfiction. Okay, this is stupid. 

But why did this Glastonbury Tor pop up? It’s only seven down, so it’s got to be pretty relevant. 

Okay, it’s a hill in Somerset. Big deal. Building at the top, kind of old, other excavations— 

“Lydia— Lydia, listen to this. I found this Glastonbury Tor place.”

Lydia steps on all the papers with her high heels and crouches down next to me. “What do you mean you found Glastonbury Tor? What did you search?”

“Sorceresses from Somerset. But read this—” I point at the screen, but she’s already reading out loud. 

“‘The Tor is mentioned in Celtic mythology, particularly in myths linked to… Stiles. No. You can’t be serious. King Arthur? Really?” 

I scroll down, trying to scan the information. “Wait, it mentions something about… about Morgan le Fay, a powerful sorceress in Arthurian legend.” 

“You think Ava is Morgan le Fay?”

“Weirder things have happened—”

Lydia takes a quick breath. “Hang on. I have an idea.” 

She’s dialing a number and waiting for it to ring. She whips her hair back from her face and I see the old Lydia for a moment—the one who never knew I existed. 

“Hello! I am calling from St. Andrews High School in California and I am completing a check of an applicant’s educational history. Do you have record of a Blake Moreau attending Bangor recently?… Yes, I’ll hold…” After a minute, her face changes. “Oh. Oh. No, then. Okay, thank you!” 

She ends the call, presumably before they asked for her name. 

“Bangor University does not have any record of a Blake Moreau attending their school. He’s falsified his education. Do you think—”

“He came here with the rest of the darkness?” I ask. “What if he’s—” 

“We need to get them out of the school.” 

* * *

Last period is almost over by the time we make it back, which means Scott will be in the library for study hall. Ava should be with him. 

I start running. When Lydia and I finally make it to the library, Scott’s alone. 

“Where the hell is Ava?”

He looks up from his book—some classic novel he’s taken upon himself to read. The title looks French. When did he learn French— 

“She had to go to the bathroom…?” 

I slam my hand on the table and everyone around jumps. God. Seriously? This school is a death trap. Note to self: ask Dad if I can be home schooled. I can do it myself. For real, though. Someone is always dying in this hellhole. 

Wait, what makes me think that she’s dying? 

“We need to find her, okay? Lydia, find Allison and Isaac. Stay close to your phone.” 

The bell rings. 

That’s literally the worst thing that could happen right now. 

“Scott, come find Ava with me.”

I start pushing through the hallway, Scott on my heels. 

“What did you figure out?”

“Moreau? I’m not sure this guy actually exists. Also, We think Ava is Morgan le Fay.” 

“Like the sorceress in The Mists of Avalon?” Scott has that look of disbelief on his face that he still manages to get although he’s a werewolf, his ex-girlfriend hunts werewolves, and his friends are another werewolf, a banshee and massively handsome albeit fairly insane human. 

“You read too much,” I scoff, pushing through the horde as they empty out of the building. He’s going to be smarter than me here soon, and that’s uncalled for. 

“Stiles, I heard something—”

“Go. I’m behind you.”

Scott takes off down the side hallway. 

Towards our English classroom. 

“Stiles!” 

God, there’s a lot of people screaming my name today, and not in a good way. 

Allison is running down the other hallway, with Isaac and Lydia in tow. 

“She’s down there—” Isaac growls, and I see a glow in his eyes. 

“I know, Scott’s down there,” I say. We start skidding down the hallway and stop outside the English room. 

Something crashes, and Scott rips open the door. I’m afraid it’s going to come off its hinges. 

Moreau stands at the back of the classroom, hands in his pockets. He doesn’t look concerned at all. 

Around him, half a dozen shadows linger. 

Ava’s holding onto the desk for dear life, and it’s like she’s already been hit several times by… by something. A cut on her face bleeds, but she waves her fingers over her face and it disappears. 

Okay, that’s pretty cool. I’ve seen her in action before, but not like this. 

“Stay back!” 

Scott and I nearly fall into each other as one of the shadows nearly hits us, but Ava throws one hand up. The shadow hits what seems to be an invisible wall and falls back. 

She’s protecting us— 

“So you’re telling me that you remember nothing about your past?” Moreau says, pacing the back of the room. 

Okay, I’m listening. If Moreau’s the one controlling the gwyllion or whatever, then he may know what she doesn’t. 

Ava’s panting and holding up our shield and I realize she’s not going to be able to do that forever. 

“We need to help her,” Scott says, looking at the edges of her shield. They waver like light hitting water. 

Allison shakes her head. “We can’t. I’ve got nothing. I may have a flare but it won’t do anything. You saw what those things did to her last time.”

“All we’re doing is taking half of her power,” Lydia mutters, “We shouldn’t have come.”

“We can’t just leave her,” Isaac says. “Scott, listen—”

Isaac points us back to the conversation between Ava and Moreau. 

“I cannot answer you! I can’t remember, because I was attacked when I got here, or did you forget? This is your fault, then! Whatever you wanted, it was lost because of you!”

Ava nearly falls over, but Moreau starts walking up one of the aisles towards her. 

“You didn’t like my little spell?” He says. “It’s your fault you didn’t die like I intended.” He sighs like she’s just an inconvenience. “I see you’ve found an army,” he says. He looks at each one of us in turn, lingering on me and then Scott. 

Oh, Lord, that’s creepy. God, he’s a creep. He makes Peter Hale look like the patron saint of families. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an overshoot. 

“They—they’re my friends, Moreau,” she says. Oh, that’s a development, considering she came out of the woods like, two days ago. I don’t trust her completely still, but she seems to think we’re all best friends. 

“One, two, three, four, five. Hmm. Interesting development, to say the least. I’m sure you’ve been counting, making sure they’re always there. Right, Ava?” 

He stresses her name, pulling her up by her chin. 

Scott nearly busts through the shield, but he bounces back into me and Isaac. 

“I’ve got some more verse for you,” he says, glancing to us and back to Ava. Scott touches the edge of the shield where it meets the wall, and it’s wavering. 

“For friend and foe were shadows in the mist,  
And friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew;  
And some had visions out of golden youth,  
And some beheld the faces of old ghosts  
Look in upon the battle; and in the mist  
Was many a noble deed.” 

He throws Ava to the floor, her head cracking on the edge of the desk as he pushes her. Scott steps forward. The shield’s gone. 

He lets out a growl and Moreau looks surprised. 

“A werewolf? Really? Now that’s unexpected.” He starts stepping backwards, hands in his pockets, towards the bank of windows. The shadows start to surround him. “When she finally comes to, tell her she’ll know where to find me. You’ll know where to find me.” 

The shadows swirl around him until he disappears. 

Well, wasn’t that melodramatic? 


	4. “Wait, what?”: The Story of Stilinski, McCall, Argent, Martin and Lahey

Scott carries Ava back into his house and lays her on his couch. I’d be afraid of bloodstains, or, you know, shadow people coming after us, but not Scott. Never. Scott’s fearless. Scott thinks he can face anything because he’s an alpha— 

“I literally can feel your vibe of annoyance right now,” Scott says. 

I roll my neck. “Sorry. I— sorry. It’s just… what, like, two days and all this shit can go down? I don’t think I’ve seen my dad since Monday. He’s going to think I’ve gone off the reservation or something.” 

“Aren’t you kind of permanently off the reservation?” Scott says, looking at Ava worriedly. She’s got a large bump on her head but she’s got to be okay. I mean, she’s a two thousand year old witch, right? She’ll be able to get over this. God, I don’t know what to say. That’s a first. “She’s going to be okay.” 

“I know,” he says. “I didn’t think we’d be jumping into another supernatural episode so soon.”

“We knew what we were getting ourselves into. I warned you about going into the preserve,” I say. “I’ll watch her for a while. Do what you need to.”

“I don’t even know what I need to do,” Scott says, scratching his head and laughing. “I don’t even know.”

I point to the kitchen. “There’s a note from your mom on the fridge.”

“Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome.” 

As he gets up, he claps a hand on my shoulder. I’ve missed him. It’s been hard lately, with the whole heart of darkness thing. I didn’t even mind much that we were running through the preserve a few days ago. It was kind of nice. I mean, before we got wrapped up in this mess. It was still nice, though. 

“Can I borrow your car? She had to cover a shift and wanted to know if I could bring her some food.” 

I toss him my keys. “Don’t be out too long, dear. Remember, you have a curfew.”

“It’s like, seven o’clock.”

“You know what happens after dark,” I say. “The weirdos come out.”

At the door, Scott flashes his red eyes. “I think I can take care of myself.”

As he heads out the door, I call, “Now you sound like Allison!”

“Uncalled for!” 

He shuts the door, and I let out a breath. Okay, watch the comatose girl. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? I mean, she might just be Morgan le Fay, who turned out to be evil in most stories. Didn’t she kill King Arthur? No, that was another guy. Mordred, or something. I really could use Lydia right now. She would know. 

I lean back on the chair and close my eyes. It would make sense, though. Somerset. Welsh. Sorceress. 

One, two, three, four, five. 

Five? 

Why five people? Why did Moreau say that?

Glastonbury. Something else happened in Glastonbury. 

Wait, no. That’s a music festival. 

“Stiles…” 

What else did the Wikipedia page say? 

I didn’t read that far. 

I’m sure Lydia did. 

“Stiles?”

I flail and I’m awake. 

When did I fall asleep?

I wasn’t dreaming. I didn’t dream. 

Ava’s awake— 

She gives me a smile. 

“Hello.”

“Hey. Are you okay? Everything—everything working alright?” I say, pulling myself onto the other end of the couch. She tucks her feet under her and sits up. With a wave of her hand, the bump on her head disappears. 

“I am fine. He… he found me at the school,” she sighs, pulling a blanket that just seemed to appear around her shoulders. “The teacher. Moreau.” 

“We saw. Do you know him?” 

She looks down at the leather couch. “I do not know. I feel as though I should.”

“But you can’t remember?”

She nods, then raises her hand in front of her. “You would think with my power, I could remember.”

“You’ve been trying, though. You said you were from Somerset.”

“It just slipped out,” she says. A flame appears in the palm of her hand and it’s like the most common thing ever for her. Like, she’s just holding some fire. Yeah, just let me conjure some fire in my hand, too. We can be besties. We can have little pyromaniac parties. 

“Stiles, I have a feeling… I don’t know if the next few months are to be very kind to you.”

I lean forward. “You wanna give me some more details?”

She turns her hand over and the flame disappears. She gestures towards my hand. “May I?” 

I recoil. “You’re not gonna burn me with your spirit fire, are you?”

She smiles. “Stiles. Trust me not at all or all in all.” 

“A little cryptic, but okay,” I say, but her smile fades. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer, because she lays her hand over mine. It’s like her blue eyes go blank for a second. Just for a second, and she shakes her head and she’s back. 

“Oh, Stiles. You are going to suffer much, very soon. Or you already have. I do not know whether I see the past or the future.” 

“Lovely. That’s great. Just want you want to hear. Really makes you want to get up in the morning—” 

She reaches out and touches my face. Her fingers are cold. That’s weird, since, you know, she was recently holding a handful of fire. “I wish I could take you back to the beginning. I wish I could have been here and fixed it.”

“I really don’t think you could have fixed all this. Not even if you were Morgan le Fa—” 

Oh shit. 

Her fingers trace my jaw as she lets her hand drop. 

Her face turns white. 

“Somerset,” She murmurs. “The five. Glastonbury—” Her voice cracks. “Stiles. Why do you think I am Morgan le Fay? What led you to this conclusion?”

“Um, well, uh, like you said. Somerset, which led me to Glastonbury Tor and it mentioned something about King Arthur, and I know Morgan le Fay is a powerf—”

“Ynys Wydryn. You mean…” 

“Bless you. Wait, what do I mean?” She stumbles off the couch. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

“The Tor, the five—” Ava pulls me to my feet, her hands on my shoulders. “Stiles. Stiles, the man with one name who has many, oh—the dreams. You have had the dreams?”

All I can do is blink. I think she’s having a nervous breakdown. 

“Have you had the dreams?”

“I don’t know how to answer that question—”

“Stiles, please!” 

“Yes, okay?! Yes, I’ve had the dreams! You’re in a battlefield, you’re standing by a river, wearing a crown and a long blue dress—Ava, you look like you’re going to pass out—” 

She pulls my face down to hers and kisses me. Oh, okay. Well then. I can go with this. I pull her closer to me, then she breaks it off, her hand still on my face. 

“Stiles. I wish I could do so much more for you.” 

She opens the door and starts running. I don’t know whether to follow her or not— 

The clock chimes nine. 

* * *

As I run after her, I call Scott. 

“Get everyone. She remembered.”

“Why are you panting—” 

“We’re headed towards the preserve!”

“Wait, what?”

“Get your werewolf ass here! Where the hell were you?!” 

“Lydia called me. She found out something. She doesn’t think Ava’s Morgan le Fay—”

“Yeah, well I don’t think so, either!” 

I catch up to her and she’s barely panting on the edge of the forest. 

“Can you slow down, please?!” 

“There’s water nearby, yes?”

“There’s—there’s a small lake. Inside the preserve. Scott would know how to get there.” I try to stall. The sooner they get here, the better. At least they were on this side of town anyway. How far did we run? I don’t want to know. Hey, maybe I don’t need a trainer. Maybe I should try out for track. 

“You—I—you called them. They’re coming.”

I shrug. “Of course I called them! What do you expect me to do?” 

Allison pulls up in her car, and she and Isaac get out. She’s barely holstered on her quiver before Scott arrives in Roscoe with Lydia. 

Ava steps against the fence, holding on for what looked like dear life, when she sees them. 

Scott looks to me and back again. I try to send him a mental message. 

He immediately holds out his hands. 

“Ava, something’s wrong. What’s going on? Just stay calm.”

Message received. 

“I need to get to… the lake. He said there’s a lake? I need to get there.”

Lydia squints and I see her taking it all in. Her face gets like that sometimes, and I see everything locking in. She’s figuring it out better than I could. 

“Okay. Okay, we’ll get there. I’ll take you there.”

“The rest of you need to stay. It’s not safe,” she says. 

“We’re coming with you,” Allison says, pulling an arrow from her quiver. 

“You need to be protected,” Isaac says, his yellow eyes glowing in the light of the half moon. 

The half moon— 

She jumps the fence and starts running. Lord, I’m so done with the running. Why does it always have to be running? We chase after her, and after a minute or two, we come upon the lake. The water’s calm and stretches out for long enough to reflect some of the night sky and the moon in the middle. 

Ava kicks off her shoes and steps down into it. The water flattens like a sheet as she holds her hands over it. When she gets ankle deep, she turns around. Even with her back to the moon, her eyes glow like she’s got light behind them. I feel strangely calm too. 

“I remember now. I know why I am here.” Her voice gets a shimmery quality. I don’t know how else to explain it but it sounds like silver. “Do not forget who the leader is, Isaac,” she says. We all turn to look at him and he looks like he’s in trouble. “Betrayal twists friendship. Be frank, be true, and all will come to light. You are the bravest of them all.” Just when he starts to look uncomfortable, her eyes shift to Allison. “The noble warrior. The bright queen. Whenever you stray, remember your destiny and you will find your way back.”

Okay, this is starting to sound like Confucius— 

“Lydia, the faerie. You will find your use in time. Be patient and be strong. Stiles—”

Oh, shit, eyes on me— 

Her voice grows soft. 

“I loved you once. A long, long time ago. You trusted me, I tried to trick you, but you were too wise. One cannot deceive someone who is already deceiving.” 

“Stiles,” Lydia whispers. “Behind her.” 

In the dark, I see shadows moving. The gwyllion. Moreau is close. 

She steps back, the water lapping at her knees. “And Scott. The man who grew from the childhood with an angry father into the role of the leader. A great leader. You— you are destined for greatness. Please, listen to me and all will be well. You each have your role to play.” 

“It would be nice if we knew our roles,” Isaac says. “You’re speaking in tongues. This isn’t the Renaissance Fair—”

“Didn’t you listen?” Lydia says, stepping forward. “She called me a faerie. Allison, a queen. Isaac, the brave. Scott, the leader. Stiles, the wise.” 

It starts to click together. Welsh mythology. King Arthur. 

“She’s not Morgan le Fay—” I start, looking back at Ava. She waves her hand over the water, and it starts to glisten with white sparks. 

“She thinks I am,” Lydia finishes. “Isaac, the bravest knight—Lancelot, and Allison is Guinevere. Stiles is Merlin—” 

We all look to Scott. “You’re King Arthur.” 

“Well, this is new,” I say. “Never had someone call Scott a king before—”

“What does that make her?” Allison says. 

We look to Ava. She’s waist-deep in water and is reciting something that sounds like gibberish. 

“That makes her dead.” 

Scott lunges towards the voice—Blake Moreau. He tries to attack, but he only gets thrown back by one of the shadows nearest him. 

“Get out of here!” 

Scott tries, but he knows we’re not going to run. 

I should have brought my bat— 

“Looks like she’s finally figured out who she is. Have you?” 

“She’s the Lady of the Lake,” Lydia calls out over the wind as it picks up. “She’s the queen of Avalon!” 

Ava. Avalon. Thomas Malory. Le Morte d’Arthur— 

“Ah, Morgana. Pleasure.”

“I am not Morgan le Fay—”

I push her behind me. “Listen, you’ve got this all wrong.” 

Moreau keeps coming, and Scott’s now fighting his own battle. Isaac lunges towards him but gets caught up too. 

Allison’s realized arrows go through ghosts. Allison and Lydia and I clash back to back in the middle of a darkening forest. 

We’re shit out of luck. 

A strike of lightning hits the lake. 

I shield Lydia from the bright light, and it feels like it’s there forever. 

When the thunder dissipates, she screams. 

It’s a banshee scream. 

Someone’s going to die. 


	5. Rex quondam, rexque futurus

The shadows pause; for some reason, it seems as though they’re mesmerized by the sound of a banshee scream. Honestly, it is pretty mesmerizing. I almost stop to listen, but, you know, as we’re all facing death at the hands of a crazy English teacher and an army of evil spirits— 

Sounds vaguely familiar. 

“They sense one of their own,” Moreau says, strolling towards us. “A sidhe. A faerie.” 

Allison draws her bow and aims it at Moreau’s chest. He extends his hands and he looks like he’s inviting her to do it. 

“Go ahead, my little warrior queen. Shoot your arrow. Shoot it straight into my heart. ” 

I push Lydia further behind me. He takes the point of the arrow and directs it to his chest. “There. You don’t even have to aim.” 

Allison’s hands shake for a moment. 

“You won’t do it,” Moreau says. “You can’t be the one to kill me. I’m sure you realized that.”

“We literally know nothing of what’s going on,” I finally say. You can’t blame me, I was going to snap. I’m sick of these people thinking we’re more spectacular than we really are. “We’re just kids! We’re not King Arthur or Merlin or—” 

“You sure about that, Stiles?”

I hear Lydia from behind me, and she points out to the lake. 

Ava walks—or floats, I haven’t decided—into the bank. She’s not even wet, but she’s carrying something in her hand, dragging it across the ground. She walks straight towards Scott, where he and Isaac stood after they pulled each other up from the ground from their altercation. Gently touching the blade of the sword, she offers it to Scott. In the full moon, the blade shines, almost white, up to a silver hilt. What look like rubies and topaz twinkle as he moves his hand, the sword extending out from him like another appendage. 

Scott actually looks like a king. 

“Rex quondam, rexque futurus,” Ava says, looking to Moreau. “King once and king to be.”

Someone really should explain what the Hell is going on— 

“Scott is not King Arthur reincarnated,” Lydia starts. “That is impossible. I am not Morgan le Fay. They are not Guinevere, Lancelot and Merlin! And you— you are not Mordred.”

Whoomp, there it is. 

“What makes you think that I’m not?” He laughs. “I’ve summoned an army. You have a teenager with a sword.”

“And what makes you think this is different than any other time, Mordred?” Ava says. She’s growing flame within her hands, and it’s crackling and turning white with every second. 

I pull Allison and Lydia down to the ground just as Ava goes to strike. 

I feel the heat sear over my back, and the screams from the gwyllion echo through the night. 

The battle has begun and I don’t know what else we can do besides crouch and cower and hell no, that’s not going to happen— 

A clang of metal, and I look up to see that Moreau—Mordred—has conjured a sword from midair and is fighting Scott. Isaac transforms and jumps into the air to catch a gwyllion who is getting overzealous. 

I wish I had my damn baseball bat— 

A hand pulls me upward, and I slash towards it, trying to get it to let go. 

“Stiles!” 

“Ava!” 

She holds up her arm and what seems to be an invisible shield stops an attack. Pulling up Lydia, she grabs Allison’s quiver. A slight shockwave moves through it, and the fletching of her arrows look like they’re covered in fine glitter. What did she do, institute a craft session during a freaking boss battle— 

“Can you cover us?”

She nods. 

Okay, maybe she’s not crafting and instead she’s trying to save our asses— 

“Lydia, Stiles, I need your help,” she whispers. “Do you recall how I used Scott to heal myself when I did not have enough power?”

Yes, and it terrified the hell out of me. Instead of speaking, I nod. 

“I have a spell that will banish the gwyllion and strip Mordred of his power over them, but I do not have enough force in which to complete it. I know you do not have magic,” Ava says as Lydia opens her mouth, “But you have something that is more important, and that is faith.” 

She holds out her hands, waiting for us to take them. I look down at them. Is she really serious? She’s really going to do a spell with us? When did my life become completing spells with the Lady of the Lake while my best friend fights Mordred, who thinks he’s fighting King Arthur? 

That sword was Excalibur, wasn’t it? She summoned Excalibur from the lake— 

I place my hand in hers, and Lydia takes my other hand. Her fingers are cold and she’s starting to shake. I don’t know whether she’s scared or the wind has just picked up. 

“Whatever happens, do not let go,” Ava breathes. Her fingers tense against mine. All I can do is nod at her. 

She starts speaking in Welsh again. At first, it sounds like gibberish. Eventually, it sounds like water. 

Allison pulls an arrow from her quiver, stabs a shadow behind her, stabs one to her left, places it on her bow and completes a double hit. They all burst into little pieces that dissipate before they hit the ground. 

Isaac snatches the arrow that Allison just shot out of the air and uses it to stab a gwyllion that he had pinned underneath him. The wind around us starts to pick up, and even the water in the lake starts to spin. Lydia looks up to me in complete panic. I squeeze her hand. 

Scott locks blades with Mordred. He tries to push against him, and I see his eyes glow red as he starts to transform. 

Ava stops the spell, and I see her starting to turn pale. I hold onto her hand, grasping tighter, and she grips my hand. When she looks up to me, I see the color in her eyes turning from blue to white. 

All the gwyllion start shrieking in tandem as they stop, dead in their tracks. I mean, they are dead, but they freeze— 

The sound is deafening. I want to put my hands over my ears, but I know I can’t. 

Ava looks to me, her eyes turning back to rich blue. I think I see a tear run from her eye— 

A sword appears between us. 

Ava lets go and Lydia jumps back, but I see why she’s let go. 

Scott calls out, pulls himself from the ground. He’s yelling for Ava. 

She looks down at the blade thrust through her and I can’t look away. I can’t look away and neither can Mordred, but that’s okay, because Scott runs him through with Excalibur. 

He drops. 

The deafening screams of the gwyllion all stop as they burst and disappear. 

Ava starts to fall, and I reach for her. Oh, God. That’s a lot of blood. That is way too much blood. That’s more than she had before, when we found her. 

I help her to her knees. We all know there's nothing we can do, so Allison braces her hand on Ava’s shoulder, pulling the blade out. Ava barely lets out a squeak of pain, and I help her turn around and lay on the grass. Her head falls into my lap as she tries to hold her hand against her stomach. 

That’s a lot of blood— 

“Did you— did it work?”

Scott appears next to her, and she’s waiting on his every word. 

“Yeah. It—it worked. He’s dead, and the gwyllion are gone. We’re safe.”

I cradle her head as Lydia and Isaac complete our circle around her. 

“I was wrong,” she murmurs. “I was wrong again. But I was closer. I was closer than I ever was.” 

“You mean the reincarnation, don’t you?” Lydia says. We all look to her, but Ava’s the one who starts to explain. 

“We—those of his time—always knew he would return,” Ava whispers. I see blood at the corner of her mouth. I know she doesn’t have long and it’s giving me a sick feeling in my stomach. “We never knew when, or… or how, or what would happen when he did.” She takes in a low breath, and I see the blood spreading. “But we always knew. We always knew. Mordred—he remains in the Otherworld, the world between worlds. When there is even a hint of a belief that Arthur has risen again, so does he.” 

“And so do you,” Scott says. 

She nods. “That is my lot, that is my privilege. But we can never be sure. We can never know whether Arthur has come back.” 

“Why us? Why now?” Isaac asks. The cuts on his face are already healing. 

“Every century or so, a group of individuals so strong, so brave, so wise comes to my attention. And I must come back, because Mordred comes back. Whether I am right or wrong, it is my duty to assist. It is my duty to make sure Mordred is banished once more.” 

I look over Scott and Allison’s shoulders, and Mordred is gone. His body has disappeared, but the sword—Excalibur— lays there, clean, on the ground. 

Ava takes a breath and I cringe. 

“Ava, you need to stop talking,” I say. “We need to get you help—”

She ignores me. “I was wrong. I have been wrong before, but know this: my advice, it still remains. Learn from the mistakes of the past and don’t make the same ones in the future. Don’t let— don’t let history repeat itself.” 

She takes my hand in hers, and her skin is cold, her hand shaking. 

“I was closer this time. This was the closest I have ever been. I almost believed it to be true. I’ll be back. I will be back, and hopefully, for him. Thank—thank you. Thank you all. You have made this cycle a most—most enjoyable one. Don’t—don’t lose each other. S-Stiles?”

Eyes go to me, but she turns her head so she can look up at me. 

“I’m here, Ava. I’m right here.” 

“I—I am sorry. I wish… I wish I could stay. You have to fight. You all… stay close. Don’t—don’t let it take you. Don’t let the… the darkness—” 

She lets out a short, cry of pain, and lays her other hand on mine. Her silver ring is tarnished by blood. “Stiles. I—I…” 

The slight glow I saw behind her eyes the first time we found her in the preserve disappears. Her chest stops moving. She’s not breathing. She’s not— 

I can’t help it, but I feel a tear run down my face. I can’t even wipe it away, because there’s blood all over my hands. 

I have to get it off. I can’t—I can’t have blood on my hands. 

I put her hand down, gently set her on the grass, and immediately go to the lake. The water’s cold but I clean off my skin. 

“Stiles, look—”

I turn at Scott’s voice. They had all moved away from her body. She’s glowing—the white sparks come back, encase her body, and when they fade, she’s gone. The only thing left is the sword, dull with blood, behind Scott. 

Lydia gets to her feet and touches the hilt of the sword. 

“I know what we have to do,” she murmurs, handing it to Isaac. “Throw it into the water.”

I step out of the way as Isaac walks up to the edge of the lake. Winding back, he releases the blade spinning into the middle of the water. 

A hand reaches up and grabs it mid-air, then drags it down. 

Just like that, she’s gone. 


	6. Hold your breath

_ **Friday, September 28, 2011 ** _

I walk towards the water and it’s strangely quiet. It’s been more quiet lately and it’s kind of unsettling. I’m getting used to unsettling, actually. Last week was a bit much. Really? Reincarnations?

King Arthur? Merlin? Really? 

But it strangely made sense. What’s the difference between a pack and a round table? If a two millennia old sorceress—the queen of Avalon—can make that mistake…

“You read the story, didn’t you?”

Lydia lays her hand on my shoulder. I show her the book I’m holding. 

“Lancelot-Grail. Interesting choice.”

I skip a stone across the lake. It disturbs the glassy surface. 

“I’m sure you’ve already got the story locked away in that pretty head of yours.”

She sits down at the edge of the lake with me. 

“I want to hear it from you.”

I sigh. “According to this, her name was Viviane. She learned magic from Merlin. He fell in love with her. She told him she would only love him when she learned all the secrets he knew. She tried to trap him, but he knew it was going to happen. He let it happen. I looked into Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, too. Supposedly she was also the one to give Arthur Excalibur. She bore him to Avalon when he died.” 

I toss another rock into the lake. This one just goes bloop. 

“We did all we could,” Lydia says. “He was going to kill us. He thought we were them and he thought he was Mordred.” 

“I think he really was Mordred,” I say. “If she pops up, so does he. But she said she’s been wrong before. She said—” 

“She said she loved you too, I know,” she says. “She thought you were Merlin. That’s what she meant.”  
“It’s still…” 

“It hurts. I know.” 

I sigh. “You realize she knew more about us in three days than… than…”

“Forever?” She says. “And each of us got a gift. How much would you bet that those arrows still work?”

“They might come in handy, you know, with all the darkness supposedly coming,” I concede. 

“Isaac, you know his history.”

“I do.”

“She tried to help him.”

“She did,” I say, kicking a stick into the water. 

“Scott got the sword—” 

“Excalibur,” I correct. “He got Excalibur. There’s a difference. He got the sword of all swords.” 

“He got confidence,” she says after I finally shut up. “He’s the alpha.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I harrumph. 

“Stiles. You know he struggles with it just as much as everyone else. He’s a born leader but doesn’t want to be seen as better than anyone. Does that sound like anyone you’ve read about? Maybe someone who created a round table—” 

“And what about you?” I interrupt. She’s moving closer to me and it’s making me a bit sick to my stomach. “You’re beautiful on the outside, but dangerous on the inside?”

She just gives me a sly smile. I let out my pent up breath and look back out to the water. It’s calm now, but I see a front of clouds moving in. It’s going to rain soon. Maybe I should try to sleep. I really haven’t been sleeping lately. If I thought it was bad before, it’s even worse now. I don’t want it to get worse. I know what happens when it gets worse. 

Lydia starts talking again. “She sacrificed herself for us. Three days, and she sacrificed herself. What does that say about us?” 

She gives me a smile. “Maybe we are pretty remarkable.”

“A banshee, two werewolves, a hunter and a human walk into a bar…” I start, and she lets out a chuckle. 

“Hey, you’re not just a human,” she says, and suddenly she’s wrapping her arm around mine. “You are Stiles Stilinski. She thought you were Merlin! That has to count for something.” 

I can’t breathe. She’s touching me. Lord, what do I do? Stay cool, Stilinski. Stay cool. 

What the hell, you’re freaking out over a girl touching you, and a week ago you were fighting Mordred and were believed to be Merlin— 

You can handle this, Stilinski. 

“What do you think she meant?” Lydia asks, leaning her head on my arm. Holy shit. Holy— 

“About what, exactly? About the history repeating itself?”

“Of course I understood that,” she says, and I hear a bit of the old Lydia. “The story: don’t let Lancelot betray Arthur, don’t like Arthur lose his faith in Guinevere. Understanding the story and not letting it happen again. For you, I think she meant don’t just let yourself just trust anything. Don’t get yourself backed into a corner without another way out.” 

“That’s comforting.”

“Would you rather know, or not know?” She says. 

“Something else she said… about the darkness. Don’t let it take me.” That scared me most of all. It could be something small, or something bigger. 

I’m going with bigger, as it usually is in this town. 

I’m considering moving. I think Japan is nice this year. Can’t be anything too bad happening there, right? Right? 

“Why don’t you cross that bridge when you get to it,” Lydia finally responds. “We don’t get a lot of these days anymore.” She says, looking out to the lake.

“What about that last poem Moreau recited? _Idylls of the King_. More Tennyson. But why did he pick that section? Friend and foe were shadows in the mist, and friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew? Faces of old ghosts…” 

“Stiles? Stiles. Stiles—” She puts her hand on my face and pulls it towards her. 

“I—Lydia, this is serious. Can you listen for just one—” 

Her lips are on mine. She’s kissing me. She’s kissing me again. Okay. Stay—stay calm. I can’t tell if my heart has jumped to double time or if it’s stopped. My hand finally makes it to her neck, and I try to keep her there—no, wait, don’t go— 

She pulls away, smiling. No, smirking. 

“Why—”

“You held your breath,” she says, using my shoulder to stand up. I hear her feet crunching against the fallen leaves as she walks away. 

God. Lydia. _Lydia_. 

The wind kicks up, and for a second, the water nearly splashes up to my feet. 

Okay. Alright—I’ll follow. If that was a sign, then I’ll follow. 

“Are you coming, Stiles?” Lydia yells from the distance. 

I get to my feet and almost fall on the leaves as a scramble. When I go to get up, I see something shining on the ground. 

It’s a silver ring, one with scrolling surrounding a sapphire. 

Ava’s ring. 

I look at it, small in my hand, and feel the raindrops hit my shoulders. 

I start after Lydia. “Alright, alright, don’t lose your mind.” 


End file.
